


the loneliest number

by timeinthetardis



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Swan Arc, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeinthetardis/pseuds/timeinthetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's got both halves of Excalibur, an enormous house, and nobody to celebrate her victories with her. </p><p>Minor spoilers from <a href="https://youtu.be/RqUNF_sUSMM">this</a> sneak peek for 5x07, <i>Nimue</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the loneliest number

Emma dispatches the trio standing in front of her with a flick of her wrist, sending them to a faraway section of the woods. They're not going anywhere fast, not with Belle's ridiculous high heels and Gold's limp, and she'll be able to transport them back into her holding cell long before they reach town. She has plenty of time before they can even think about communicating what's happened to the rest of the group; plenty of time to examine her prize and ponder her next step.

Picking up the sword, she runs her finger along the flat side of the blade, the pattern etched into the steel as familiar to her skin as the wheel of her car.

“Finally,” she says, triumph blossoming in her chest, and she feels a smile curving her lips. “We're making some progress, here.” Turning, she raises the sword into the air in a parody of a heroic stance, but the cave around her is empty; the only response to her words is a hollow echo of her own voice, bouncing dully off the stone walls.

_This isn't right._

“I have both halves, now,” she continues. “It's only a matter of time before I succeed. Then they'll see.”

The silence presses in around her, buzzing heavily in her ears, and she huffs. Summoning the dagger to her free hand, she smirks down at the two pieces, catching her own reflection in the polished steel.

Alone.

_This isn't how it's supposed to be._

Another huff, and she moves towards the stairs, reappearing in her kitchen. She drops the blades on the table with a dull clatter, ignoring the scratches that appear in the dark wood. Stalking over to the bar (and studiously ignoring the bottles of rum lining one shelf), she pours herself a generous shot of tequila, tossing it back easily and relishing the burn in her throat. The heat settles in her stomach, a steady hum of warmth that feels almost alien to her body. It's funny- she wouldn't say that she's cold, so much as that she doesn't feel much of anything; she feels like a statue, most of the time, unless she's drinking or with-

_I loved you._

The glass shatters in her grip. Cursing under her breath, she flicks her wrist, making the shards vanish in a puff of dark smoke. With an irritated sigh, she grabs a new glass and pours herself a whiskey. She lingers over this drink, taking a few steps back towards the table to stare at the sword and the dagger.

“I did it,” she tells her empty house.

Nothing.

She shoots the rest of the whiskey, setting the empty glass beside the hilt of her dagger. This is _it_ , this is just what she needs. She should be cackling gleefully, or something, the way she imagines Rumpelstiltskin had laughed the day Regina had cast the first Dark Curse.

And yet- it isn't- she doesn't feel like she's won anything.

_Loved. Love d._

She lifts a hand to her cheek, swiping at the tears streaking her skin. Drawing it away, she stares, the moisture dancing in tiny spheres over the tips of her fingers. For all the coldness she's tried so hard to cultivate, she can't seem to keep from crying, these days; when she thinks about Gold's perpetual smirk, it seems entirely unfair. But then, he's almost always had Belle by his side, barring the few times he's lost her to kidnappers, amnesia, and her own good sense.

_The difference between you and me, Emma, is that I don't mind being alone._

And that's it, really, the reason everything feels slightly off-kilter. She'd made the plan alone (well, apart from Mental-stiltskin, as she'd christened him in Camelot) but she'd never thought she'd actually have to execute it on her own. Without the people who had betrayed her- without her parents, certainly, without Regina and Robin, definitely, and perhaps without Henry (she wasn't so naïve as to think that the Truest Believer would come around to the Dark One immediately, even if she'd hoped that he might) - but even in her worst case scenarios, brought to mind as she'd directed the diner back to Storybrooke, she'd thought Killian would stay by her side. They've always been a hell of a team, and- well- honestly, she'd been counting on that.

She hadn't, strictly speaking, needed to speak to him at all to get the sword required to bring Gold back from his coma. If anything, it probably would've been easier to simply summon the sword to her, or to sneak onboard and steal it while he'd been plotting with her family. But he'd rejected her so quickly, when she'd brought him to the house- hadn't even tried to hear her out, to see that she's still the same Emma, the same woman he loves-

_Loved._

That word feels carved into her skin, tattooed across her eyelids, played in an endless loop in her mind. Past tense. He'd loved her, once, but- she isn't enough for him anymore.

Just like always.

She thinks she should probably know better by now.

Reaching under the neck of her jacket, she tugs at the silver chain, pulling out his ring. She can't resist the urge to slide it onto her finger, to twist her hand back and forth, admiring the way the gem sparkles in the dim light. The heavy band spins with her movements, overlarge and warm against her skin. Taking it back off, she wraps her hand around the metal, feeling the ornate carvings against her palm. Closing her eyes, she breathes in deeply, and it's almost like taking a step back in time. She sways slightly on her feet, remembering the way he'd smiled at her, ducking his head bashfully when she'd told him she loved him. She can almost feel it, the joy and hope swirling through her, the heat of his mouth on hers, the way she'd been so absolutely certain that they would succeed-

And they have, haven't they? Almost, at least, and not in the way she'd expected, but Emma's not one to discount any form of victory.

Her body prickles, power waiting just below the surface. It doesn't hurt, not the way it had in Camelot, when her skin had felt too tight, the magic fighting to escape at every moment. She doesn't feel dizzy with panic, struggling to balance what she feels and what she knows and what she wants, trying desperately to find the right way to handle everything. And if she's worried, now, about winning Henry and Killian back to her side, about what they might do in their moronic (if well-intentioned) quest to free her from the destiny she's embraced, it's nothing to how she'd felt before she accepted the Darkness.

Enough.

Her eyes snap open. Twirling the fingers of her free hand, she sets all the lights in the house blazing, banishing the shadows that seem to cluster around her. A slight tilt of her head, and music blasts from the enormous sound system she'd installed for Henry.

“...I'm workin' my way back to you, babe...” the speakers blare, and if she still had neighbors she's sure that she'd have someone on her porch within minutes, but the windows of the other houses remain dark.

She tucks the ring away again, letting her hips sway with the beat of the music as she moves back over to her kitchen table. Under the bright lights, the two blades glitter, and she carefully runs the tips of her fingers over their edges. Back together, she knows Excalibur will be impressive; not only in its sheer size, but in the gleam of power already seeping from the two halves. Emma has a feeling it will all but glow, and won't that be lovely, when she finally destroys the Light?

She snaps her fingers, and the house plunges back into dark silence. With a loving pat, she sends the sword and the dagger to their new hiding place, unwilling to take any chances with keeping them on her person.

“Right, then,” she announces, settling her hands on her hips. “Enough stalling. Time to go see a man about a flame.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to stay updated on my writing (or join the fun of constant CS blogging), please feel free to check out my [tumblr](http://in-each-place-and-forever.tumblr.com/) and/or my [writing tumblr](http://distinct-elements-of-speech.tumblr.com/).


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